"Exactly! How could Mr. Stone possibly invite her?"
"Isn't she just some divorced housewife? What does she even know about business?"
"Come on, if you're claiming Mr. Stone invited you, where's your invitation? Prove it!"
Their laughter was like the clinking of champagne glasses—superficial, hollow and yet sharp enough to cut. High-society circles were predictable this way: quick to fawn over power and quicker still to trample those perceived as weak.
I crossed my arms, the motion deliberated and scanned the room with a slow, icy gaze. "An invitation?" I repeated, my voice calm but loud enough to command attention. "I don't have one. And do you know why?"
The crowd stilled, their whispers falling silent as I took a measured step forward.
"Because this banquet was arranged for me."
I let my words sink in, savoring the shift in their expressions—mockery giving way to uncertainty. "All of you know exactly why you're here tonight," I continued, my tone sharper now, "so I suggest you choose your words carefully."
Lowering my arms, I straightened my posture and declared, "Allow me to reintroduce myself: I'm Rosa Gray, today's investor."
